


Expectations

by motleystitches (furius)



Series: A Word and A Look [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Euphemisms, Falling In Love, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Mpreg, Not Quite This World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/pseuds/motleystitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conservative-minded alpha Erik is in love with omega cad Charles. While Erik is expecting a lifetime commitment, Charles is less than amused at the prospect. And of course, everyone else has an opinion on the matter as well.</p><p>A Regency AU that's less drawing room romance than a bedroom aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Charles Xavier had a respectable seven thousand pounds a year, a lovely estate in the North, and an absence of meddlesome relatives. He had also, a keen mind, a pleasant disposition, and a rather venturesome spirit that would've been better expended at the navy or at the army except he was also the eldest son and heir of an ancient family. In sum, he had every advantage desired in a spouse, carefully accounted by all the families at Genosha, innocent of the reason he was in the country at all.

"I will duel in your place," Raven had offered. "You know I shoot and fence better than you."

"And then what?" Charles had asked, shuffling through the letters. "Are you going to duel every one?" Raven smiled, eyes shining at the prospect. She had never liked anyone hovering around her brother, alpha or omega. Why he stand them at all was beyond her.

"I'm leaving for the country the rest of the season," Charles declared. "People always calm down. It was just bad luck that everyone's in port at the same time. Logan wouldn't even give me the time of day last year." He paused, standing up to eye the books he needed to pack. "It's all very trying. My research would suffer an inevitable delay given a lack of intelligent conversation I can expect. I don't suppose you would let Hank come down with me?"

Raven wouldn't, so Charles Xavier, in his barouche with its baronet's crown on the escutcheon and liveried footmen, arrived in the still rather rural Genosha fully aware that he was near one of the more regrettably agonizing periods of his rather comfortable lot in life.

It turned less regrettable and much less agonizing at one of the balls held in his honor. There was always a certain desperation prior to the the private agonies and, for Charles, despite his great personal charm and manners in other times, it was no exception. Also, he had never, since he came of age, sweated through an agony without desired company. Erik Lehnsherr had a reputation for being reclusive and laconic. He was also in possession of a pair of very fine eyes and finer set of legs. Charles liked a challenge.

"It's a wonder what you've been able to accomplish in a few short years," Charles said over port. "I always thought the country ..more wild.”

"Without Erik, there would be no Genosha at all. It would still be fields of rock and thistle with a few huts," Janos, he thought his name, enthused.

"Could one man really make such a difference?" Charles enquired politely, interest roused at the idea of a fine mind to accompany the fine eyes.

"Erik is both architect and builder of your current residence. Do you note the arches and buttress, the clocks and the mechanisms of the fountains- they are all of his design."

Erik, at the other side of the room, glanced over hearing his name. Charles met his eyes and lifted a glass in greeting. Excusing himself, Charles stood and made toward his direction. Erik then hastily exited the room. The movement was sufficiently stirring that Charles followed him.

Genosha, despite being still sparsely populated, had an over-representation of observant and rather bored individuals who noted both the flight and the pursuit. Those gifted with an eye for detail also recalled that Charles Xavier had his eye on Erik Lehnsherr for the better part of the evening and that Erik had not moved from his spot by the shelves for that duration, as if pinned by that very remarkable gaze.

The Charles should set his sights on the eminently respectable but notoriously irritable Erik Lehnsherr would've been easily explained by the young man's excess of energy and spirit, but not why the romance proposed between the sheets was, if not enthusiastically received, effective, given that Erik had always been mysterious about his inclinations and spent the majority of time in his house alone with his books and his inventions.

It was concluded that nature worked in mysterious ways and it was high time that Erik found himself a confidante. Whatever other hopeful families had lost, at least Genosha gained; no one could begrudge Erik Lehnsherr, who founded Genosha as their haven.

Thus, everyone was rather indignant when Charles Xavier left Genosha after a fortnight leaving behind a visibly pining Erik who was seen listlessly wandering the moors and, who, instead of the usual practical and decorative projects, began working on a series of mechanical beasts that frightened dogs and children.

When Emma Frost, coming down to the annual hunts for the albino foxes, the Genoshans persuaded her, as one of Erik's old colleagues, to call him to business in Westchester. As they explained what had happened, Emma's eyebrows lifted higher and higher until it almost disappeared into her hairline.

"Only Erik," she said cryptically, "would end up taking a frolic so seriously. Cavorting is Xavier's favourite sport." It sounded vaguely indecent, but Erik's mechanical beasts, though keeping away wolves and foxes, were affecting the cows and hens, so Janos merely reminded her that Erik needed some tempering.

Stifling a laugh that she was certain would cause her joints to pop for a week, she went riding up to Erik's house where she found him at his desk, staring at a piece of paper.

"I heard what happened. What were you thinking?"

Erik, despondent, showed her a letter, dated a while ago. "He loves me," he said, then corrected, brows drawn into a quiver, "he loved me. I didn't think it could be possible, but he said he loves me. He even asked me."

"They all say that," she answered. "You shouldn't take it to heart."

"He wanted it so badly." Erik swallowed. "Do you think he finds that I'm not wealthy enough to provide for a family?"

"I really don't think a Xavier would care about wealth in a ..close friend" Emma told him, being delicate, given Erik's state."Perhaps-"

"Perhaps I frightened him in some way," Erik interrupted. He was fretting. "Tell me, is there some courtesy, some Westchester tradition that I ignored so that he...."

"Yes, he left," Emma continued dryly, ignoring Erik's glare, "and it likely has less to do with your education or standing as it is to do with Charles Xavier being who he is. He has a reputation."

"A reputation," Erik repeated. A flush spread upwards his neck as the implication sank in.

Emma smirked. "He is in Westchester at present, but rumour has it that he might head to the university for autumn"

A few days later, the mechanical beasts were packed away; Erik and Emma both departed.. The Genoshans elected Azazel to a pro tempore authority.

Those who occasionally travelled or had relatives in Westchester reported that a public scene had taken place between Charles and Erik. Its consequences had occupied all the newspapers and broadsheets for a whole winter. No one would believe it until they saw the unmistakable jawline in the cartoons, tense and angry, and deeply unhappy.

In discreet conversations, it was determined that the Xavier was likely more trouble than he was worth and thank goodness it was Erik, whom the loyal Genoshans were sure would be able to withstand anything. There was a cautionary tale in the story, but as the parents were uncertain how to put it in unexceptional terms when the children asked , they only said that business had taken Mr. Lehnsherr and his mechanical marvels to Westchester. They would then add, speculating reasonably, he probably would not return.

So everyone was very surprised when after a year, a letter came to open up the Lehnsherr house. And then, a week later, out of a grand carriage drawn by a team of Arabians, stepped out Erik, a babe in each arm. Charles Xavier, to his credit, did not show his face.

-=-=


	2. Chapter 2

“How are the children?” Charles asked, slightly awkward. They had not seen each other for nearly a full year. The images of the children were hazy and even the surgical scars had faded thanks to some liniments and balms that Emma had insisted on procuring for him. He remembered there being two, a girl and a boy, as alike as peas in a pod.

Erik visibly brightened at the inquiry. “Thriving wonderfully. They’ve not had a day of ill-health between them. Wanda’s hair is a wonderful shade of red, like the dawn in its first blush, while Pietro’s had turned a pale gold wheat. I’ve commissioned portraits of both. A copy would be forwarded to you as soon as they’re ready. But look, I have cameos.” He brought out a delicate porcelain case, opened it and within, there were the faces of two children, distinct in colouring. Charles marveled at the the rate of change and growth in the young. “You may keep it,” Erik said. “I brought it up for you especially.” A little astonished, Charles murmured his thanks.

“Pietro could crawl faster than anything I’ve seen, but he would always wait for his sister after a distance,” Erik continued fondly. “They could not talk as we understand it, but I suspect that they have developed a private language between themselves. I often listen to them babbling at each other in hope that I might understand them.”

“That is gratifying to hear,” Charles smiled. “And you? Are you well? I hear even in Westchester that some of your inventions have caught attention.”

“I am as can be expected,” Erik said. “There have been investors interested, but between the children and Genosha’s governance, I thought it best that I not further divide my attention. Was there something specific that you would ask of me, because I would grant whatever within my power.”

“Yes,” Charles sighed. “No.” At Erik’s confusion, he said, “the navy and the university finally concluded their negotiations. There would be a ship, outfitted partly at my expense, but with a full complement of crew and every natural philosopher applied as a warrant officer.”

“And that is...good?”

“It’s great news. Fantastic. We never thought that navy could spare us a ship given the political climate, never mind a seaworthy crew.”

“And how long would you be gone?” Erik asked, coldly.

“Six months, I think,” Charles answered, “if all goes well.” He noticed Erik’s manner. “What is it? Yes, there would be other alphas onboard. It could scarcely be avoided and we’ve gone over this. The whole of Westchester have discussed the topic with more attention than I cared for.”

“That was not what I was going to say,” Erik said. “It is only that,” he hesitated, “that the children would be walking soon and I think, talking even sooner. I had hoped you would be there.”

“Ah.” The rejoinder had been so unexpected that Charles lapsed into silence.

“I had hoped that you might be in Genosha or that I would bring them both to Westchester.” Erik continued, “I thought of bringing them this time, but Darwin assured me that they was both still too young for long journeys. He was very disapproving when I mentioned that they had already made the journey once and had shown no ill effects.”

“Darwin,” Charles scrambled for a recollection. “He is their nurse? Your valet?”

“Their tutor, when they’re old enough. For now, there’s no better man to watch over them when I could not be spared. His full name is Armando Muñoz. I had served with him in the war and had seen him meet every kind of situation readily.”

Charles refrained from the comments that came to mind of a soldier educating his children. Unfortunately, Erik was never a voluble man, Charles being the conversationalist between them, so when he faltered, silence lengthened.

“Is that all?” Erik inquired, if a bit stiffly, after a while. “Forgive me for presuming, but you’ve told me nothing that a letter would not suffice and parting from Wanda and Pietro for any length of time distresses me greatly. Do you need...” He blushed. “I said that I would be away for a fortnight,” he finished delicately.

Charles shook his head. “No,” he studied Erik’s face. It was even more handsome than he remembered, being much less stressed and haggard than when he saw him last. “I asked you here so that you might know and witness that I’ve changed my will. While my solicitors did not specifically request secrecy, I’m sure you see the necessity for discretion. It is, after all, a considerable estate.”

“Yes.” Erik’s manner, if it was possible, became even more stiff.

“I’ve recently received a rumor, though nothing’s been confirmed, that my half-brother Cain Marko has surfaced somewhere in the West Indes. In light of that unpleasant possibility and considering my imminent travels, I thought it best that I settle the matter of inheritance for the children before I leave.”

“I can provide for them well enough,” Erik said, clearly hurt. It had been an unnecessary subject of contention.

“I do not imply you could not,” Charles soothed. “It would ease my mind if I know that they would be provided for should any fatal misfortune befall me; I would not have a lack money thwart any ambition they might choose particularly given that their circumstances in society would be a little precarious.”

“I asked you,” Erik reminded him, voice a little thick. He was closer than Charles had expected, their knees almost touching. “The offer is always there.”

“You did, indeed,” Charles said, and remembered, all too vividly, the debacle that followed the asking. He did not regret Erik especially given his evident devotion to the children, a necessary subject that Charles’ had quite despaired of ever exploring given his philosophical preoccupations. Still, even known bastards entitled to the Xavier estate would give the twins more consequence than many. “And the answer has not changed,”he said, then added, “Yet even so, you and the children have all my fondness and affection.”

With great restraint, evident in the tension of his hands, Erik moved himself away from Charles and stood.

“When is the appointment with the solicitors?” he asked, green eyes shadowed.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow. Here, of course. Your old room is ready unless,” Charles licked his lips, “you prefer another bed.”

Erik closed his eyes briefly, breathing deep. “No, thank you. I’ve lodgings already procured.” He bowed slightly. “Good day, sir.”

-=-=

Erik walked briskly down the hallway, expecting Charles to call out his name. There were times he still turned, walking down Charles’ residence in Genosha, expecting Charles himself. It was a fancy, no more, and he knew it to be idle because the memory was fading with time. Sometimes, he wondered at himself, for still believing so deeply, so ardently, that Charles Xavier wanted and loved him when afterwards he had looked astonished and stunned when Erik pressed his suit.

Nevertheless, Erik could not believe that Charles had made a jape of himself or merely jested of his affections when when there were two living infants in Lenhsherr house born out of their shared feelings for one another. It was the promise of the world against the wretchedness of flesh: one shared agony joins, the second immortalizes. They were one soul in a single body, bound together for time immemorial. Erik could not bear to believe otherwise.

Hearing another set of footsteps behind him, he turned, but it was only Sean, holding a portfolio. He had an unusual expression of intense concentration.

“The documents, sir, for your perusal. Should you find anything amiss or requiring changes, you’re free to call any time, day or night. The door shall be kept open to you.”

“Thank you,” Erik said, aware that the boy must be quoting what was Charles’ obscure invitation, but what of it? The third one was for joy. The words were old even in his childhood. Though the memory was a gentle one, perhaps it assumed too much even as Erik himself did; Erik knew enough of himself that he would suffer the gain and loss of that joy badly. 

Erik left Charles’ house. It had rained, the streets were muddy. He went to find his banker and tie up some of his business affairs at Westchester. Charles was right. He was no longer only responsible for himself. He had Wanda and Pietro to think of. Should they be left bereft, he wondered if Charles would claim them then, come down to Genosha and remove them to Westchester; would he be their father only in Erik’s absence?

The maudlin path of his thoughts was disrupted by a passing conversation.

“Even the millinery is excited at the news of Xavier’s expedition. Apparently Charles Xavier has decided outfitting his crew with uniforms, even the common sailors. Gold and a very particular shade of blue which has now become the latest fashion so now no shop has it. I’m surprised the admiralty allowed it, though dear, who would decline new clothes purchased at another’s expense?”

Erik entered his bank. He was slightly early for his appointment and unfortunately Mr. Toynbee would be slightly late. There was a bookstore next door, quite new. He was trying to decide whether it would be too early to purchase school texts when two young ladies entered the establishment discussing the date of Xavier Expedition’s departure.

Apparently Charles’s proposal, a “little adventure”, as it had been a year ago when Erik first became acquainted with it, had since become talk of the town. He tried not to listen, to no avail, because he realised he did not know the answer and had to learn from two strangers that Charles would be at sea before the month is out.

Young voices carried. Erik couldn’t help overhearing despite of himself.

Then one said: “I didn’t realise it was that soon. Lady Jean will be devastated. She is absolutely devoted to the man and Sir Charles is quite fond of her as well. I saw it with my own eyes at Summers’ dinner last week. It was always one matter to recall that he was charming, and quite another to see it true.”

“The Greys are close to the Xaviers, aren’t they? I envy Jean’s eyes.” She interrupted herself with a little sigh, “what a remarkable green. They complement his blue beautifully.”

Just as Erik decided that he must start mathematics early for his children-- even geometry before algebra-- which was at the other end of the shop, one of the runners from the bank came in and informed that his appointment was ready.

“This way, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he said, and they must make way past the two girls.

“Lehnsherr? Is he the one who-” Apparently whatever Lehnsherr did, it was to be spoken in lower tones than Lady Jean Grey’s green eyes or Charles’ fondness for those orbs. Erik wasn’t sorry to leave. He needed his mind clear for Wanda and Pietro’s sake.

He had just quitted his interview with the new and dizzying knowledge that he and his children are the potential beneficiary of even a million worth of estate when a carriage pulled in front of him. To his surprise, Emma’s yellow head emerged from the window.

“Erik, I called you, did you not hear? I wish I could say that it is the first time I’ve seen you woolgathering on Westchester streets. Would you not ride with me? I feel like a fishwife having a conversation like this.”

Rather than point out that the conversation has been so far been one-sided, Erik got into the carriage. He noticed the other occupant only as the coachman closed the door behind him.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Raven said. “I want to say I’m surprised by your nerve, but I’m not.”

It was too late to jump, they were already moving.

“How do you do, Lady Raven?” Erik inquired, with a sinking feeling.

Raven, never one for indirect discourse, said, “I don’t care what you do in Genosha, but you’ve already got what you wanted out of Charles and I think he’s been more than generous and patient with you. If you are here to press an advantage-”

“By your leave, milady,” Erik interrupted, forcing his hands to loosen, “I am not here to press anything. I love your brother. I am the father to his children.”

The silence that fell after was satisfying though Emma’s curiosity was almost palpable beside him. Then Raven regrouped, waved a hand and continued, “Be that as it may, Charles could ill afford a distraction. Do not hinder this expedition or you may find yourself quite unable to return to your beloved Genosha. I will personally make certain of the impossibility. Yes, here will do.” She stamped her feet twice and the carriage came to a stop.

“Remarkable young woman,” Emma said, watching Raven disappearing into the crowd. “I hear she’s taking up boxing. Come now, Erik.” She laid a hand on his elbow as he was trying to get out.

Erik punched the side of the carriage, then turned on her. “That was very ill-done. I had considered you a friend.” He was almost shouting.

“She offered the services of her tailor if I might arrange a _tête-à-tête_ ” Emma answered calmly. “I didn’t even know you are back. Are the children well? Very well, don’t answer, but let me make it up to you over tea. You know this is better than having Raven and her friends hunt you down during dinners.”

“I don’t intend to stay long,” Erik said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I apologise, but I must decline the tea.”

“Or,” Emma eyed him speculatively, “I know a new place that serves the most wonderful chocolate on couches with silk pillows. It’s all rather decadent if a bit gaudy. I feel quite like the odalisque lying on one. You might enjoy the fantasy as well.”

“Emma, I have a headache.” He glanced out the window. It wasn’t far from the inn. “Let me walk. I think a little air will do me good.”

“If you say so, shall I drop you back at Charles’?”

“I’m not staying there.”

“Oh.” She sounded a little surprised, but bade the driver to stop and waved away Erik’s apology for the shouting.

It was still early in the evening when he returned to his room. He had supper brought up and ate half-heartedly while he read the newspapers, helplessly drawn to any mention of the Xavier Expedition then gave up the exercise for being futile for the whole paper was filled with it. The headache was gone after the meal, but the fatigue persisted. He undressed and was asleep before the moon was high.

In his sleep, he heard the sound of a door creak open; the lights guttered. He was awake immediately and saw a hooded figure in the candlelight. He reached for his knife just as the hood fell.

“Charles?” he thought he was still dreaming. “Are you really here?” He reached out. Charles took his hand, warm and substantial and it was all Erik could bear not to pull him toward himself. 

“I did not wish to part on bad terms before we see each other again tomorrow morning. I tried to wait for you. That is, you were not being presumptuous.” Even now, Erik marvelled that Charles could still look so shy.

Raven’s warning came to mind but beyond it, it would still be a terrible idea. He voiced the thought, then startled as Charles quite determinedly drew off his hood and placed his cloak over the back of the chair.

“You don’t want-” Erik began, already feeling the effects of Charles’ presence suffusing his limbs, more heady and intoxicating than he remembered. Charles had all the power over him. Erik would not deny him anything.

“It’s early yet. Let me sleep beside you,” Charles said. “It is not so terrible,” he smiled, as gentle as it was from one of Erik’s dreams, “and it would help.”

“Of course,” Erik shifted backwards and opened the coverlet as Charles stripped, the pale shapes of his legs almost visible from the moonlight streaming through the windows.

Then he was warm beside Erik, his head pillowed on Erik’s chest as he had been wont to do a year ago. Daringly, Erik smoothed a hand down Charles’ shoulders, feeling the shape of the familiar muscles beneath the cambric, his hand, however, encountered an obstacle at the shoulderblade.

“What is this?” he asked softly, uncertain if Charles was already asleep.

“Bindings.”

Erik tried to quell his panic. “Have you suffered an injury?”

“I can hear your heart beating faster, but no, I’m not hurt,” Charles said in a whisper, “I had to bind my chest quite tightly for a while but the doctors say it’s normal to have lingering effects up to a year. I do it now to protect my waistcoat, mostly.”

The Genoshans nursed their own children and seldom complained beyond eight months; Erik kept the comment to himself.

“Is it uncomfortable?” he asked

“A little.”

“Should I-”

“You just want me naked,” Charles said, but he was teasing, his lips briefly touching Erik’s collar before he sat up and shrugged out of his shirt.

“Control yourself,” he said as Erik knelt on the bed and he brought up Erik’s hands behind his back. “Careful, there’s a sort of pin there.” Erik felt for it, his hands steady as Charles breathed softly against his neck. He unravelled the cloth, wounding them in one hand; it was silk, so thin and fine that he became quite amazed at the number of layers. Near their end, however, he saw the two tell-tale damp spots seeping through the fabric and the scent of Charles’ skin became stronger. He resisted the temptation to bring the cloth up to his nose, but draped it on the headboard.

He tried to pull Charles toward his chest, but Charles resisted. The handsome curl of his mouth was mesmerizing. “Your turn, darling,” and he tugged significantly. Erik held his arms up as Charles divested him of his shirt, the heat of his broad hands grazing his sides setting the skin to fire.

“Please,” he said, when he saw that Charles was staring at his chest, as if quite transfixed, though the difference between them were less marked than when they saw each other last. Charles had a finger hovering over the skin, as if hesitant to touch. At his voice, Charles eyes met his and pushed him gently so that he lay on the bed again. Then Charles drew up the covers over them though it was almost too hot. Charles was still wearing his stockings, the silk sliding deliciously between his calves where their legs were tangled. Erik toed them down at they were bunched at the ankles, then Charles and he were almost pressed skin to skin the entire lengths of their bodies.

“Sleep,” Charles ordered.

They dozed for a while. When Erik woke again, it was because Charles was trying to get out of bed. Erik had slung his arm across him him in his sleep, now he tightened his hold reflexively, his thumb circling the smooth skin.

“I need to go,” Charles said, though he merely moved slightly, bringing the arch of his hip into close contact.

Erik groaned. “Don’t. I can’t. I haven’t.” He was a madman. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he pressed forward again, seeking the pressure.

Charles eyes widened, all amazement. “Not even a woman?”

“Charles,” Erik growled, “I had just left Genosha yesterday morning,” but the question cut through the haze, “it is not as if I--” He released Charles.

“Genosha has altered little then,” Charles commented, as he rolled out of bed and strode unselfconsciously to his clothes. Erik tried not to stare too openly as Charles tucked his shirt into his breeches then fastened the buttons. “I have a larger and more comfortable bed at the mansion.”

“I know.”

“You do not, actually, it’s new.”

“I like the old one.” It had, Erik recalled, impressions of his and Charles’ fingernails in the headboard. 

“It’s still there, just in a different room.“ Charles looked up from pulling up his boots, hair in fantastic disarray. “I have Sean waiting outside. I was only meant to be two hours. I think I’m perhaps fifteen minutes late,” Charles said, bringing out his watch. He leaned over for his strip of cloth-- Erik almost reached to take it from him -- stuffing it into a coat pocket.

Erik pulled himself up into a sitting position. It had been a terrible idea after all, “So you are leaving.”

“The offer of a bed in the house stands.” Charles smiled, his eyes too open and clear for coquetry, but the bow of his mouth had an endless measure of the art. “I’ll be in it, sleeping, but you are more than welcome to spend the rest of the night there.” Somehow, he found Erik’s breeches and shirt. He threw them onto the bed. “We can send for your things in the morning, but hurry, before the nightwatchmen start their rounds”

The night was more balmy than he had expected, though Charles insisted that he had Charles’ hood and cape while Charles ducked his head and kept his cloak, so that in combination with the barouche with the concealed coat of arms, the whole affair felt a little like an elopement.

Sean was actually not dozing, but seemed to be in chorus with some owls. “He’s trying to catch one for the storerooms, he maintains they’re better than cats” Charles whispered conspiratorially. “I think he underestimated the extent of superstition in sailors. Owls are bad luck.”

Erik was tired. Charles was sitting, smiling, his shoulder pressed against him. The sequence of events became rather confused upon recollection. He thought that they were in Xavier house again, with Charles shushing him not to wake up the rest of the household. They had their boots in hand, the marble shockingly cold against his bare feet. He held Charles sleeping against him. He thought they were at Westchester. Wanda and Pietro were playing in the gardens with a kitten. There would be solicitors in the morning.

He had no dreams. In the morning, he stared up at an alien canopy in a strange empty bed.

-=-=


	3. Chapter 3

Charles had woken early, tore himself away from Erik’s embrace before sending Sean for Erik things from the inn and informed the household of their guest, ignoring the pointed look from his valet.

He had his breakfast, answered some letters, sent others, then after ensuring that there would be nothing that could require his immediate attention, called upon Hank only to learn that he had gone out to the university last night.

Erik was still abed when he returned. He was frowning even in sleep, an oddly familiar sight considering how infrequently Charles woke before Erik in the mornings and how long ago those mornings existed. He thought of waking Erik, but recalled how tired the man had been. With more effort than he expected, Charles pulled his hand away from where it was lightly carding Erik’s hair and declined the instinct to lie next to next to him.

His sister had called, but left no message which meant she might call again in the afternoon. Before he could forget, Charles left instruction that he would not be at home if she did.

Erik’s luggage had been stowed in his old room at the other end of the house. Sean had unpacked for him. An old sketchbook lay atop of the bureau, a corner of a paper peeking from the cover. Curious, Charles lifted the cover and nearly laughed aloud. There was a sketch of two infants and a tiny kitten rolling about in a flowering garden. It was unconscionably sentimental, but at a closer look Charles thought there was something a little familiar about the infants. He turned to another page and saw an inked insert of likely the same two children, this time sitting rather rigidly, with a confused expression on their faces.

“Etchings and drafts of Wanda and Pietro,” Erik had come up beside him, reaching out across the turn another page. He was in the dressing gown that smelled slightly of dried lavender from the wardrobe. The scent of Charles’ soap was on him. “I’ve not had not much practice with live models at first but seven months of practice were necessary. Afterwards, it was nearly impossible to have them still unless they were sleeping. I brought these to Westchester because I had hoped to find someone who could colour them. I wanted to make a book.”

“A book?”

Though he would not admit it aloud, there were curious turnings in Erik’s mind that Charles were sometimes at a loss to follow.

“I know you do not think much of me,” Erik said in an odd voice, “but I thought at least you should have some memories of them to sit in your shelves next to your philosophies. Are they not also a miraculous confusion of abstract and physical elements?” There was an air of challenge in the question.

Charles parted his mouth to speak but the words died before he could give them sound. He stared at the etching in front of him, thought wonderingly that there had been two homunculi who could be the subject of so much affection and devotion from one such as Erik Lehnsherr, and the vastness of the idea was suddenly so overwhelming that he thought that all his learning could not give it description.

“Erik,” he said, but the man was gone and he could hear Remy’s laugh ringing in the foyer.

By the time Charles got down he found Erik already there, but judging by the surprised look in Alex’ face, only a moment before Charles.

“Yes,” Remy said, smiling broadly, extending his hand after the introduction, “this is the gentleman who-” He had a look in his eye that made Charles insert smoothly, “the guardian to Wanda and Pietro Lehnsherr.”

Then there were no more discussion outside of the contortion of laws. lt was three hours until a fair copy was produced and signed by the parties present.

After lunch, with Remy taking a while collecting his coat, Alex asked again: “Are you certain, Charles?”

“It’s signed.”

“We can always changed. And, I thought you had arranged-” Alex stopped as Erik stepped into view, then resumed as he left it, “What about Lady Narumani?”

Charles sighed. “I have written to her, but she is at Shiar. Our correspondences has only recently resumed after last year’s events.”

Alex said nothing more.

A year ago, Erik had arrived at Westchester only a few weeks after Charles’ and, to put it bluntly, cut a figure.

He was a mystery in an otherwise sedate small season. The fine eyes and the fine legs Charles had admired were much appreciated by others in Westchester. Erik was handsome and grave, with a few inexpressibly curious manners and it seemed, all the languages of the world at his disposal. Though he made no secret that he had arrived from Genosha, the excitement he stirred named him a foreign king incognito, a spy, a treasure hunter and other startling epithets that spanned the ladder of respectability. Those who fancied a tragic cast to his face invented histories: a lost kingdom, a lost cause, a lost love.

But when the bolder made their advances, he said that he had pledged his life and heart to Charles Xavier and believed the feeling mutual. It was a little strange and sudden, people thought, for they knew Sir Charles Xavier, but Mr. Lehnsherr seemed sincere and was distractingly amiable when he revealed that particular piece of information, all who knew it thought to themselves taken into private confidence and of course shared the intelligence freely with all their friends after swearing them to utmost secrecy.

It did not take long for the news to spread through the drawing rooms.

Charles, who used the months between late June and November preparing papers and lectures, thus sequestered either in his own library or at the university, heard nothing of Erik’s arrival or the rumours until Raven came back from her annual holiday.

“I’ve heard from several people that you share a formal understanding with a certain Erik Lehnsherr. Who is he?”

Charles, trying to determine whether a criticism on Lamarck would be too obscure for an undergraduate audience, protested without looking up, “We were never engaged.”

He was a little surprised at the question. It had been an unspoken rule between them, both for the sake of propriety and peace of mind that they never discussed those that provided ease.

“Then why was he under the impression you are engaged unless he is mad?” And before Charles could puzzle out the question, Raven continued, “Unfortunately, madly dashing, madly handsome are his only association with that word. I’ve had Kitty and Marie inform me that they’ve never seen such good looks or such well-turned calves since Lt. Bobby Drake, but with much better rhythm. They were quite congratulatory upon my imminent station as sister to the man.”

“Erik, dancing?” Charles remembered the effort that he had spent in getting the man to do the same with him in Genosha and felt a little insulted.

Raven refused to be distracted. “Were you a rogue, or was he?” At Charles’s silence, she became concerned. “Did he force you? Do you want the physician? Should we write to Lilandra?”

“Your syllogisms continue to astound me,” Charles said, looking up from the French text. “He claims an engagement; I deny it. Did I engage him under false pretenses or did he force me? Neither. We passed a rather pleasant time together in Genosha, without the threats of lawyers.”

“Then why-” She stopped. A strange look came over her face, a mixture of laughter and consternation. “You cleaved to him.”

“Raven! Your language is appalling.”

“Spare me your blushes, Charles Francis Xavier. You knotted him,” she insisted, emphasizing the word, only to rile him further, “and now he’s so besotted he’s followed you home. To think you went to Genosha to avoid similar behavior. Admittedly, none previously has been so bold to suggest an actual engagement.”

“I don’t see how this is any of your bloody business.” Charles’ good temper had an end to it. “How could I know that he would make such a spectacle? He was downright stoic while I knew him. The flair of the dramatic had been distinctly absent during our association.”

Raven sat down opposite the desk, chin in hand, contemplative. “I see Emma Frost’s hand in all this,” she concluded after a few moments. “She’s often in his company and it’s said they had come up together.”

“She wasn’t even in Genosha at the time,” Charles, exasperated, could care less about the gossip of the lesser families that made the debuts so late in the year. “Let it pass. And if you’ll be playing one of your infernal game with Emma Frost, leave me out of it.”

However, Erik’s continued presence at Westchester’s social functions and Charles’ absence from the same only fuelled speculations. Charles was content in his ignorance until the chancellor of the university took him gently aside and asked about his future plans considering the changes he would be welcoming into his life. Upon seeing Charles’ confusion, the chancellor hinted obliquely, then asked him outright whether he would be taking a sabbatical. It was one matter to be well-favoured and pursued, another entirely when the pursuit inspired officious attention, especially one that was based on a false premise.

After correcting the assumption, Charles complained to Raven, who had her friends carefully corral the gossip to something so confused to be easily forgotten.

But it was Moira was on his arm when he heard his name called loudly and with enough familiarity that others at the park turned their heads. A phaeton actually slowed to a walk beside them.

“Charles!” Erik called again.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” he had said, turning around to find Erik advancing rather menacingly toward them. Moira’s hand tightened on Charles’ arm. Charles’ patted it and saw that Erik narrowed his eye at the movement. “Good morning! I think it is a lovely day for an explanation of your interest toward disrupting my life. How long should I expect it to continue?”

“I thought our understanding had been complete,” Erik said.

“Indeed. I thought so as well.”

“You left,” Erik said, accusatory, “and now I find you with that creature at your side.”

The creature at Charles’ side who had killed at one hundred paces without blinking asked demurely whether she should intercede. Charles patted her gloved hand again, though more to calm himself than to reassure her.

“I am unaware that the understanding in question would preclude me of my freedom to go where I would,” Charles said frigidly to Erik. “I thought we parted amiably.”

Erik advanced another step. “I never, for an instant, lied or played you false even before we’ve cleaved onto each other.” There was a gasp from an onlooker and a burst of ugly laughter. “I treated it as the contract of our shared feelings.”

Charles arched a brow. “Do you intend to bring it to the courts then? That an engagement had been formed under false pretenses?”

“Not at all, Charles,” Erik had said, apparently without shame or simply unaware at the scene they were causing. “I wish to pass my life with you and expect you by my side, undisturbed by the wretch who has your arm.”

It was all Charles could do to keep Moira firmly at his side. “And yet you’ve upset my sister, disturbed the local inhabitants, and have become a menace to my social calendar. How should Major MacTaggert affect us is, frankly, beyond me.”

“I cannot allow it when you’ve not acknowledged-”

Charles interrupted, “You cannot allow? By what authority?”

“It is part of the understanding,” Erik said. “That you would abstain from the company of alphas unless I’ve permitted it, until our feelings could be affirmed. It would benefit to have children brought forth in a family with a solid and exclusive bond.”

Charles reeled. Moira seemed similarly frozen in shock beside him. There was a white roar in his ears. Charles dug his teeth into his lip in lieu of spitting out the first invective that came to mind. There were others that would shock even Raven-- Charles, after all, did spend half his year in colleges among students. He scarcely knew where to begin. He had thought the man merely somewhat addled afterwards. It was not an unknown effect during the more intense of alpha and omega relations. He had not expected the fantasy to be so complete nor Erik, apparently a man of practical nature, to be so convinced of its reality.

It was a while before he found civilized speech.

The spectators, he was aware, were holding their breath. “Very well,” he said, each word clipped, “as you are so set upon a contract of our affections, we shall have the matter settled as a contract. Let me assure you, Mr. Lehnsherr, I shall have no opinion on the whether you would choose omegas or alphas to counsel you for court.”

Raven came home to Charles writing in a fury.

“I heard. What are you doing? Who are you writing to?”

“Lilandra. You are right, Erik Lehnsherr is mad and I’m putting an end to his madness.” Charles’ folded the letter, sealed it with enough force that his little finger felt the jarring impact of the ring and was a little stained by the wax. ‘He would be grateful for it once he regains his sanity.”

Lilandra Neramani, Queen’s Counsel, newly victorious over her prosecution over Doctor Reed Richards, duly arrived in Westchester and started preparing a case against Erik Lehnsherr Esq., the chief magistrate of the protectorate of Genosha, for defamation by slander and malicious misrepresentation of Sir Charles Xavier. Her agents collected Erik’s life history, from his early orphaning, to his years in military service, to his role in the annexation of Genosha, all of which Charles had known only a little despite the time he was acquainted with Erik, and two weeks of it in close company.

They were prepared for a countersuit which never materialized though Erik remained at Westchester, persisting in his fantasy. Charles was unprepared for the journalism, which caught the basest and idlest imagination in Westchester. Glimpsing a few broadsheets which Sean dutifully brought up, after his initial anger, he felt sorry that Erik had so few friends. In the end, with all of his mystery lost, the journalists were not kind to a man alien to them, especially an alpha who seemed to represent all that was unenlightened and unsophisticated about Genosha.

Raven brought back some of the jokes she heard in the drawing rooms; Charles forbid her from mentioning them again within his earshot, and ordered Sean to buy and burn all the early morning copies with cartoons.

Lilandra had advised him not to treat with Erik Lehnsherr alone, but he encountered him outside his lecture hall, a distinctive figure half-hidden by a pillar.

“I thought you would’ve returned to Genosha by now,” Charles said.

“You sought me out. You asked me to love you,” Erik said, quietly, much altered, as if he had not slept for a few nights. Charles knew the lines and shadows of his face and knew that the sleepless nights had not been happy.

Charles did not deny it. He was, as all wealthy men of his class were, ruthless and determined when in desire. He had considered it an unexceptional trait. There were not many hallways in Genosha, considerably more forest paths. He trod every one for Erik Lehnsherr. Once, he had read, he had hunted, played cricket and chess with him and counted it as an accomplishment if Erik smiled.

“I do not think it unnatural to assume that you would remain when you know I do not take our cleaving lightly.” Erik stopped, awkwardly. “I miss you by my side. I think I would die if I am parted and never to see you. ”

“Stay, then,” Charles said, refusing to feel guilty and surprising himself. “Drop this ridiculous suit, be silent on the matter, and I shall similarly relieve you this case. It’s been tiresome and frankly, I’ve more important matters to attend to.”

“Whatever you wish. My heart and life is yours I-”

“I will not marry you,” Charles said. “I strongly encourage you to seek another, but I would have my friend back and share with him my company. I will not promise anything beyond it.”

Erik was quick to agree. He smiled. A sort of tension eased in Charles’ chest seeing it. It was considerably more difficult to convince Lilandra, who wanted the case to proceed and become a precedent, and almost entirely impossible to calm Raven, who finally accused him of having contracted madness before taking off, so Charles was alone in the house, inexplicably irritable even amongst his books and notes.

The person he saw most often was Erik, who had no daily business in Westchester, and who called up on him daily, sat with him at chess or read with him, and did not seem to require conversation in his presence. The season ended without further incident. Charles and Hank concocted a wild scheme they promised each other to develop over the holidays, but winter came early that year and one morning, with snow sitting on the windowsill, Charles found Erik sitting listlessly in front of the fire, trembling slightly.

He was not ill but flinched away at Charles’ touch. Charles did not pity him, but it seemed cruel to leave him. Moira had left early in the drama and Charles had not time to cultivate other prospects.

“What do you usually require?” he asked Erik, who closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. By then, he had been so frequently at the house that Charles had given him a room for his use.

That evening he had stumbled going down the staircase to their chess game. Arm tight around his chest to stop him falling, Charles finally coaxed an answer out of him.

“Some books, and water, with ice when I can get it.”

It was not yet time for Charles’ own agony, but near enough that the Erik’s proximity and misery was affecting. It was helpless between them. When the two weeks ended, staring at the contentment on Erik’s face with the first return of reason, Charles wanted to hate himself, but could bring himself to the feeling for he did not wish to begrudge Erik or himself of the joy they shared. Then, at the end of the month, when the tell-tale reddish band appeared on the skin low on his stomach, he had never seen anyone pleased when he himself was afraid nor had he experienced terror transmuting to hope so quickly that he ached with the memory.

The confinement and birth were, for all the bodily discomforts, easier than even the doctors and surgeons expected and Erik was so wonderfully happy throughout that Charles’ found himself under the influence of the same contentment.

So when Erik mentioned Genosha with particular longing, Charles couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that bright smile fade and offered Erik the children to take with him. He remembered thinking that Erik Lehnsherr had been lonely and that he, Charles Xavier, wished all his friends well.

So it was almost a personal affront to find Erik in the library after Remy and Alex left, staring gloomily at an open copy of _Don Quixote._

“I would apologise for Remy if his manners offend you, but there’s no finer legal mind and it’s generally agreed that he should be ignored except when it comes to his professional opinion.” Erik made no sign that he had heard. Charles forged on, “We had to be certain that the will could not be challenged by either a potential Marko or the crown. I’m grateful now that my mother provided the settlement Raven early. It helped matter considerably that she was an alpha, of course, as I do not think she would care for a guardian.” Aware that he was beginning to ramble, Charles stopped.

He approached, warily, as if a skittish animal. Erik’s moods were a mystery when he sank into one of his silences. “If you are upset about Raven, you’ve heard yourself it couldn’t be avoided. If Wanda is an omega, she would need a significantly better situation than merely money can provide. It does not seem fair to legitimize one sibling without the other. I do not mean to take the children from you. Joint guardianship with Raven would strengthen their claims considerably, and entitle them to the entailed portion. Erik, now you see how much I think of you.”

“Executor of your estate, millions at my disposal,” Erik said, so softly that Charles strained to hear him. “I had not given much thought to it yesterday. I have agreed to everything, but it has been awful to contemplate your demise for so long, until I realise it would not be much different from it is now, for I never see you though I miss you. Sometimes I wonder if you really exist.”

“You are here,” Charles reminded him, touching him lightly on his hand, the elegant shape ornamented small white scars. He leaned in.

“You know I cannot refuse you, whatever you wish” Erik said, a little brokenly, near his mouth, “but should not you reserve the pleasure of your company to another considering how soon you’ll depart, unless the person is among your crew?”

Charles shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair for the others,” he withdrew, “but I see you’ve a name in mind. Who?”

Erik looked up at him, challenging. “Lady Jean Grey.”

The answer was so unexpected that Charles stopped the slow slide of his finger toward Erik’s cravat. “What about Jean? You know Jean?” He queried sharply.

“You are fond of her.” Erik added, a little wild. “She is devoted to you.”

“Yes, so she says. Her family and I are old friends. How do you know Jean?” He frowned. “Are we speaking of the same person?”

“The lady has green eyes.”

“Yes, but I don’t see how this has to do with anything. You have green eyes yourself, Erik, under certain lights.” He touched the corner of one eye. “You’ve more lines here than I saw you last.”

Erik grimaced. “I’m glad to have satisfied a preference occasionally. I suppose she is,” he paused, “younger.”

“Younger than whom-” Realization dawned. “Indeed, quite a bit younger,” Charles suppressed a smile, "Lady Jean Grey is thirteen years old just last month.”

“Oh.”

The visible surge of joy was almost frightening in its intensity. Erik’s smile was breathtaking. 

“And the family is not...waiting?”

“My darling,” Charles said, “you are very old-fashioned. Jean is an alpha with a large portion. Her family would have little say in her choice.”

“Am I?”

“Even the Greeks have more modern ideas-”

“No, am I yours?”

Charles looked at where Erik’s hands were now holding down his wrists against his chest.

“As you would keep me forever if you could, for your own,” he said wonderingly.

“Yes,” Erik said, ecstatic, and kissed him.

-=-=


	4. Chapter 4

_HMS Phoenix_ had anchored at the harbor in Westchester for some months, undergoing desperate need for repairs since its capture in the final battle of the last war. Its progress and final use were much remarked upon by the people of Westchester, not least because of the unprecedented focus on natural philosophy. Speculations of the admiralty’s involvement had been put to the support of Captain Scott Summers, who, it was whispered, had a possibly personal and potentially political altercation with several admirals who opportunistically uncovered Sir Charles’s proposal and granted it much more generously than they otherwise would have. Instead of the half a dozen natural philosophers as passengers in the original proposal, they had given him an entire ship with all its officers, provided, of course, that he outfitted the expedition.

Westchester, used to Charles’ eccentricities, and generally ignorant of the esoteric minutiae of the scientific purpose of the expedition, nonetheless excited itself to fever pitch over this latest project both for the grandeur of its abstract scope and the machinations of people and material it involved. The week prior to the departure of _HMS Phoenix_ , a series of dinners and dances were held for farewells, congratulations, and the many “godspeeds” that would accompany the expedition.

Charles had, of course, ensured Erik had all the invitations, but there was still the hint of a flush to Charles' skin in the mornings that showed Erik that he had exerted his considerable will in order to rouse himself into the necessary activities for his expedition instead of lingering, or, as Charles would say while a delicious stretch over him, malingering in bed. Loath to disappoint him, Erik volunteered his presence despite his natural disinclination to be amidst the crush of society; which was how, reluctantly emerging from Charles’ embrace only a little after a week, with his limbs and reason once more his own, Erik found himself standing at the outskirts of every single festivity in the county, watching Charles alternatively playing the flirt and the politician with alphas and omegas alike, the tender curve of his smile dangerously distracting. Erik had a notion to stand next to him with a saber, but an understanding of his own temper had him sampling all the better vintages instead.

“Mr. Lehnsherr of Genosha I presume,” Erik turned his head. A short youth stood nearby, his waistcoast so ornamented with gold threads it was almost gaudy; the glass in his hand was sloshing slightly. “Emma says to look for the gloomiest man in the room.”

Erik gave him a look. “You are very astute.”

“My tutors tend to use a different word, but I’ll gladly take it as a compliment from you. Anthony Stark, the Honorable, at your service.” Stark said, his smile charming. “Though I’m here to offer you my own compliment, for what they are worth. I’ve seen your work at Emma’s house and think them fine and marvelous.”

“They’re only toys. Emma has a morbid sense of humour.” Erik answered, giving his attention to the way Charles was talking with Major Moira MacTaggert, their heads close together.

“But I think,” Stark continued, as if Erik had not spoken, “given that the manipulation of the physics rely on the same principles of the universe, with some small changes they can be formidable engines of war.”

“For Lilliputians,” Erik said.

Undeterred, Stark laid a hand on Erik’s arm. He was so close he had to look up at Erik, which he did, through long and thick lashes, the coyness belied by the strange gleam in his eyes. “With larger scale of imagination, the potential is staggering. Think of the power we could harness. It would change the nature of warfare forever. Think of it, Erik, you and I, ushering in a new age.”

“I do not find war a pleasant idea,” Erik said, stepping away, his patience tried, “and you shouldn’t think much of it either, Mr. Stark.”

Stark straightened. There were two high spots of colour on his cheek. “But war is where honor, brotherhood, and love, finds its highest expression, for the upholding of justice and protection of the weak.”

“War is where evil reigns, where men die and suffer without reason no matter the cause,” Erik said cuttingly, and before Stark could rhapsodize or press for further attention, excused himself to the library, where it was out of bounds for the guests.

There he remained, disrupted only twice: once by Sean, who let out a whoop of triumph and the second time by Angel, who ignored him. It was near midnight when Charles entered.

“Oh good, Sean found you,” he said, seeing the plates. “I missed you at dinner. They’ve given me a portrait of myself,” Charles told him, gesturing to the object Angel had left by the fireplace. “Have you seen it?” He went and took off the cloth, frowning, “As if I’m to hang myself for the ancestral gallery. It’s ghastly to see my face like this. I can see the ghosts of my family vying for dominance in it. I think my maternal side rather lost.”

“Your face is not ghastly,” Erik said absently, admiring the painting. “It’s very well done even without a sitter. It has you exact, uniquely so.”

“Would you like it?” Charles offered. Then, brightly, “The children may see it as well. Perhaps they’ll recognize me when I go to see them.”

“You’ll come to Genosha then?” Erik queried, surprised.

“I will come as soon as my reports are complete, and if they are not complete within a week, I’ll come anyways,” Charles said lightly. At Erik’s silence, Charles turned toward him, uncertain, “that is, if I am welcome.”

In answer, Erik took his hands and sat them on his waist. Charles regarded him questioningly and sighed as Erik kissed him on his cheek, on his ear.

“That is a yes then?” Charles’s breath tickled as he tipped his head to the side, giving Erik access to his bare neck.

“Are you...” Charles trailed off, uncertain again, as Erik shifted their bodies closer and with his right hand, drew Charles’ hand from his waist to his hip.

“No,” Erik said, drawing back to study Charles’ face, the firelight flickering across it, animating it beyond the graceful brow, the intelligent eyes, the half-bitten lip. Erik thought he had never seen anyone more beautifully alive or more fantastic. “I’m merely asking.” It wasn’t often done outside of agonies. He was not sure if Charles would agree, but their desires had been so closely aligned that he thought he must make an attempt. He bent close again, aware that the hand on his hip had not moved. “Indulge me for a memory to tide me through my next.” He closed his eyes, waiting.

To his surprise, he felt a hand on his chest, pushing at him slightly. Erik sighed, but just as he stepped away, his cravat tightened. He opened his eyes. Charles had a hold on it and was unraveling it, the sensitive corner of his mouth promisingly uplifted.

“I thought you would never ask,” he said, and let Erik peel him out of his jacket, waistcoat, and almost every other item of clothing before they removed themselves to the bedroom.

But the next day was the day before the date of departure and Charles had almost no time for him until it was time for the expedition to leave and for HMS Phoenix to begin her unusual virgin cruise.

“Expect me in Genosha,” Charles said at last, and gave him a firm embrace, before disappearing onto the bustle of the boat that would row toward the ship. And Erik watched, with a new and strange sense of hope as he watched the ship fading into the horizon.

With Charles gone, he had not much business in Westchester beyond the purchase and order of gifts and some materials for his workshop. The city seemed nearly asleep, having exhausted itself in the week previous. However, among Erik’s purchases, there were volumes that led the bookseller to inquire sympathetically and recount a son whom he had not seen for two years for being in the service at sea.

For Erik, who never thought much of the navy, was taking upon himself to learn all the differences between ships their parts, the theory behind their sailing and navigation. Being naturally mathematically inclined with a mind that was used to conceiving geometry and motion, he thought he mastered those arts easily. He became an avid reader of the _Gazette_ and tried his hand at charting Charles’ course himself. He timed each letter to be sent by packet.

There was one that began, ecstatically:

_Dear Charles,_

_They’ve called me papa, so you’ll be father or pater when you come ~~home Genosha~~ home. I never thought I could have such peace as you’ve brought me..._

Every morning, when he went out to ride, he composed what he would write, then that evening drew Charles’ probable course upon a map he had hung upon the wall. In this way, almost six months passed, each day becoming more painful to bear. The imperfections of the world had always been clear to him. Nonetheless, he had always wanted things, both intangible and tangible. Before Charles, he had thought he had the strength to live with only desire.

One morning, he was on his way back to his house when he encountered Azazel.

“Your Xavier’s back.” Erik’s heart seized. “There’s an alpha in the carriage,” Azazel continued, with a slightly dazed expression on his face. “She is blonde and lovelier than a goddess.”

There was a thousand reasons why Charles would come to Genosha with a female alpha. Erik recounted to himself a few dozen by the time he rushed home and saw Xavier’s carriage in his courtyard.

“Raven-” he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the figure on his couch.

“It is difficult to find your residence, Mr. Lehnsherr,” LeBeau said, standing. Erik finally noticed that Summers was also there. “We had to ask all along the way, for they only said the Great House when we inquired, though one did give it the name House Magnus, possibly to confuse us, but we are here nevertheless. The man Azazel was much more direct.”

Abruptly, Erik remembered that the Genoshans had not quite forgotten their perceived slight by Charles Xavier.

“Where is Charles?” he asked, heart pounding.

“HMS Phoenix returned to port a week ago,” Summers began slowly, as if they’ve all the time in the world.

“Where is Charles?” Erik demanded again and met with a terrible silence. He would’ve preferred the moments of his painful speculation.

Eventually, “He was not on it. I’m sorry, my friend,” LeBeau said.

“What do you mean he’s not on it?”

“There had been a storm,” Raven said, with a tight voice.

“You just told me his ship made port.” Erik sounded, he thought to himself, admirably calm.

She brought up a handkerchief to her face.

At length, Summers spoke: “According to report, Charles and a few of his colleagues had wanted to make additional observations and conduct some sort of experiment on an island which seemed to be uninhabited. His other colleagues needed the observation from sea, so as a compromise they had the ship promise to return within a couple of days, but she was caught in a storm and returned a few days late only to find the entire camp gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

Summers hesitated before speaking: “the camp was destroyed and there was signs of a fight, and blood, though there were no bodies.”

“You just told me the island was uninhabited,” Erik said. He tried, in vain, to keep himself ignorant of the reason behind the evasion. He was determined to have no imagination. He must have the facts.

“There were those who thought so; they did not venture into the jungle.”

“You knew this a week ago? You waited a week before telling me?”

“There was paperwork,” Summers protested. “We had to be certain.”

“And now? You are certain? You’ve looked for him? He could still be alive!” Wild hope took Erik. He moved forward and saw Summers and LeBeau took a step back. He still had the riding crop in hand.

“In other times, his friends would spare no effort and expense to determine his fate, but there is war coming, Mr. Lehnsherr. Ships are being requisitioned for the navy, and what is left cannot sail a blockade unmolested.”

The world was black. Erik couldn’t speak. Finally, he bit out the words, “Is that all?”

“We know it is a tragedy,” Summers said. “I am sorry for it, for he is our friend as well, but we’ve come about the will, of course.”

“Of course,” Erik repeated, suddenly hollow.

“As you are named executor of Charles’ estates--”

He went on. It was nothing Erik didn’t know. It was everything he did not know. Grief and anger had compounded and frozen him. He signed what paper they brought before him and simply wanted them gone.

Then Raven insisted on staying, which surprised LeBeau and Summers and caught Erik’s attention.

“I am their guardian and aunt. I’ve done what I could, suffering all the condolences and sympathies I could bear. My affairs are here. My brother’s children are here.” She looked to Erik, pleading. “May I see them?”

Eventually, Erik nodded, and leaving LeBeau and Summers downstairs, led her to the nursery.

“They are sleeping,” he whispered, as he opened the door.

“I only want to look,” said Raven softly, as she slipped in behind him and looked at one, then the other, and finally saw the painting on the wall.

“So that is where the portrait went. I had wondered. There’s not even a body to bury.” She began crying, muffling her sobs with her hands. “And I had quarreled with him, over you.”

Erik didn’t know what to say. He wished, absurdly, for comfort for himself, except the loss of its only source was the cause for the wish.

He had Darwin take her to the house Charles’ had stayed in before for he could not bear the thought of this Xavier inside his. She would be free to visit the children, but Erik would be riding to Westchester.

It was night when he arrived, but someone must’ve sent word of his coming or else expected it. He entered the house in a daze. He thought it would be deserted, the furniture covered and full of dust. It was not empty. The floors were polished, the flowers in the vases fresh. The activity of the household had not stopped only because Charles was not there. He could be home in an hour, in time for dinner, for chess. It was a pretty dream.

The weather had grown cool again. The colour of the tree was that same colour two years ago, but in the morning Erik woke up alone in the bed, his skin cold.

He composed another letter. It had become a habit, a wretched one now. He promised this would be the last, for the words would never be given onto paper and must surely, like its intended recipient, dissolve into the aether.

_Charles, you told me to expect you in Genosha, but you are not there so I’ve come to Westchester to find you again. I once said that knowing you gone would be the same as longing for you. I am a liar to myself. When I longed for you I could still hope and now all my hope is gone-_

He was still Erik Lehnsherr, magistrate and de facto governor of Genosha, but now with a grand estate in Westchester and beyond. Charles had left everything to him. Erik lived in his home, ate at his table, and sat at his desk, thinking that he did not own those things at all because they were Charles’, and Charles had never really been his. He belonged to Westchester society, he belonged to the university, he belonged to his books and to his philosophy. He belonged to Wanda and Pietro, for he gave them life and would be their father and benefactor the rest of their days. He had not belonged to Erik even the nights when Erik was entirely his.

Every morning, Erik dealt with the post. He read those letters from Genosha first. Others had the address of offices in Westchester and further North, writing probably concerning his new estate- those he set aside. He ignored all the ones still addressed to Sir Charles Xavier.

At the end of his first week at Westchester, Erik was looking for bit of wax when he opened a drawer that seemed too short. Having built something similar before, Erik found the mechanism easily. The false division fell flat. He reached in and found all the letters he had written to Charles from Genosha after he had taken the twins back. Erik had only the occasional perfunctory replies -- how are you, how are the children, do you need anything, and none since the voyage no matter how much he wrote-- but now he saw his letters from before had been bundled into neat packets, tied with red and purple ribbons. After he took them out, sitting in a sad row on the desk, he found a letter laid flat beneath them. On it was a rough ink sketch Charles had convinced him to draw one late evening. The sketch was not finished, Erik remembered because it had become too painful to have Charles near him, breathing in his ear while angling a looking glass for Erik to see himself for a self-portrait.

Erik packed them away. He didn’t know what to think. He did not want to stay at Westchester, but there seemed to be a hundred little things involved in managing the transfer Charles’ estates that must be dealt here, and more in the matter of legitimizing Wanda and Pietro. Erik could’ve throttled every one who had looked askance at him in the course. He was convinced all of Westchester knew and blamed him for Charles’ death.

It was unreasonable, but the idea clawed at him: if he could’ve convinced Charles to stay, if he had gone with him, if he had acted as alphas had acted in times past and confined and chained and protected him from the world, then perhaps Charles would be alive.

Erik had done none of things things. He had wished Charles happy. He had wished him joy, and in return, Charles had given him their children, and despite the strain between them, brought more happiness into Erik’s life than he had ever thought possible.

On the last day of his stay, one letter, water-stained, the seal almost cracked, caught his eye when Sean delivered it with the rest. He didn’t allow himself to reach for it until it sat alone on the salver, the writing all too familiar.

Then, Erik, with shaking hands, unfolded it:

_  
My dearest friend,_

_I received your letters only this afternoon, all at the same time, as the packet had been somehow delayed, so I’ve excused myself from dinner and am writing before the ship leaves again in hope that you might receive this in as timely manner as possible._

_I had half a hope to treat you to everything we’ve learned on this voyage, but there would be papers, and there would be talks and demonstrations, and you could attend every one afterwards without ever knowing how you’ve affected me._

_I will be content with either pater or father, or any babble as long as Wanda and Pietro know me, for I’m more lobster than man at present, being removed from native habitat to be under equatorial sun. And if they are talking, I think it only fair to warn you that they would be near the age when my minders started to despair of me: I detested tomatoes of any freshness as a child and has a hatred for sprouts- traits that, are, I’m told, common in Xaviers. If, god forbid, either or both take after me, it would be an easier meal if you remember the possible peculiarities I might have given them._

_Writing has made me bolder than I ought to be. I know I cannot dictate the way you raise them having so far played so little part in their lives, and you would be always be devoted to them as a better parent though you had none yourself. I had the set, but one who only found me interesting when I talk glibly, the other who prefer me out of the way unless I happened to be somehow in season. I was rather the tassel to the parental purse. A lone and rather lonely tassel, until Raven came._

_Perhaps it does not excuse me at all, but if a distaste for sprouts could be passed on through the generations, the philosopher in me thought it better that none of you should ever have a chance to expect more than what I could and conceive of the hereditary coldness that would injure Wanda or Pietro by bitter disappointment._

_There are joys in this world, we’ve been told, that come from marriage, family, and children. It is doubtless told more often to omegas of either sex than to alpha men. I had thought myself indifferent; my happiness always had lain with my books and what adventure I could dream in my mind._

_But now finally at sea, every league is a realisation in both senses; for every riddle solved of the universe, more questions arise, and I find myself at a different sea at heart, longing beyond the promise of answers. Philosophy is a cold partner. There is no warm hand reaching across a desk, no smile to be shared in understanding. Knowledge would come to men with time but I would remain merely a cog in the universe’s inexorable clock, without feeling and without reprieve; I am more excited to see the albatross than it is to see me and I cannot conjure happiness for a porpoise._

_So I wondered how I, being so insignificant, had given you the grace of peace, with Wanda and Pietro and even my poor self. The thought is an unexpected happiness and I would bitterly regret any occasion you ever thought otherwise. You have loved me from the first and I had not dared to confess to know its meaning until now, that the ease of the agonies of our bodies would also be the ease of the loneliness of our souls._

_You must know that you have pierced my every thought from the day I offered myself to you that winter and I had called you again to Westchester for I could not think that I must be alone without you again, for yours alone I must be._

_Expect me in Genosha. Wait for me in Genosha. It’s unworthy to imply you as Penelope, and Odysseus is much too grand for me, but know I long and pine for you no less, as two hundred days are like twenty years between us. Every day is an agony. I ease myself with the thought of how, next time, your lips’ fondness for my freckles must now cover my entire shoulder and back._

_If the packet prove as unreliable for you as it has been for me, with all the luck of the world, perhaps we would be reading this letter together already in the the house in Genosha. You are very good to me; I would be there before it is too late, before you or the children could ever be gone from me._

_Yours,_

_Charles X._

It was dated a month ago, onboard _HMS Phoenix_ , only a week before LeBeau and Summers said Charles had landed on that fatal island. The letter had been forwarded to him from Genosha to Westchester. Setting it carefully inside his coat, Erik found himself unable to stand, as if his limbs were no longer under the command of his mind. Instead, unwillingly, he began to calculate and charting the possible peregrinations the letter must have taken at sea to have reached him only now.

A muted clack interrupted his thoughts. Erik turned at the sound, but only saw the inkwell had tipped over, the stiff feather of the pen lying across the unspoiled desk; the ink had dried a long time ago. Erik stared awhile, reached out to right both, then he closed the windows and left the room.

-=-=End Part I-=-=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Toynbee: Toad’s name was Todd Toynbee  
> House Magnus: Great House, or House of M.


End file.
